Someday
by torri.oats
Summary: Olivia watches Fitz's second inauguration.
1. Chapter 1

I'm in a weird sort of mood tonight, so I decided to write and post this rambling one shot. I hope you enjoy it. This is what I call "tipsy writing".

**Someday**

She watches his second inauguration on television, just as she watched the first. This time, she's at home with a bowl of popcorn and a glass of red wine. She watches as the first couple dances together, closely. To ordinary people, the American public, they are the picture of the perfect couple. He stares lovingly into her eyes. She looks up him with admiration in hers. They move easily together. Familiar.

Olivia turns away, the pain too great for her. Yet, this is what she wanted. For him to have another opportunity to complete his vision for America. A chance to run and win the right way. She never imagined the pain she'd endure watching him do it from afar. Never imagined how her heart would ache, how it would break again.

She should turn the television, she knows she should. But she can't. She has to watch him. She has to see his eyes and maybe, just maybe, she can pretend he's looking right back at her. Telling her, without words, that he loves her because she really needs to feel it. So desperately she needs to feel loved, though she won't admit it. She is, after all, the great Olivia Pope, leader of the Gladiators and she has no feelings; she has no heart.

Was it just 19 months ago they were planning for their future? God laughed. Sat back and laughed at them. Then, proceeded to allow them to destroy what they'd worked so hard to rebuild. Again.

It was just 19 months ago when she went to his office, the Oval Office, with the lame excuse that her Gladiators needed her. She led them astray and had to make it right. The lies, as they left her mouth and tumbled out, felt all kinds of wrong. It was the best she could do at the time. Fitz didn't believe her, she could tell, but he let her go without a fight.

She doesn't know why it stung so much, his not fighting for her. She thought he'd always be there, always fighting for them because he knew she couldn't, but he let her walk out. He was stunned, that much was obvious, but he was also defeated. He'd reached his breaking point.

Those first few days were beyond difficult. She could barely climb out of bed. She could barely put one foot in front of the other. There were days she didn't think she could put her clothes on, but somehow she did it. Her weekly calls and meetings with Cyrus helped. At least she would get updates on him. He was hurting just as much as she, but the great thing about politicians, the really gifted politicians, is their ability to turn things off and on for the cameras. So, to the outside world, even to his staff, he was more focused than ever, more dedicated than they'd seen; his private pain masked brilliantly.

Then, there was Jake. Jake who sacrificed his career for her, his life really, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to feel any kind of way about him. Or about his sacrifice. He spied on her. Put her in the hospital. Recorded them having sex. Released the tape which somehow wound up in Fitz's hands. Even after all of that, when he got out of the hole he'd spent months in as punishment, he came back into her life, with explanations and excuses.

She remembers the day he marched into her office, a deliberate choice because he knew had he come to her apartment, she would never have let him in. In the office, she had to play it cool to avoid raising any eyebrows. So, he marched in wearing his white uniform. She saw Abby out of the corner of her eye, twisting the ends of her hair with that weird, flirtatious smile of hers.

She smiled politely and motioned for him to follow her into her office. She struggled to close the door gently, rather than slam it, which was her first instinct. She knew why he was there, and no amount of apologies, of begging and pleading, would get her to feel anything for him other than something bordering on hatred.

He was assigned, by Fitz, to follow her. She knew that to be true, but called him on the fact that he was also assigned to destroy the relationship between she and Fitz, so really, he was nothing more than a double agent. He had no response but to talk about obeying orders and doing his patriotic duty. When asked why he recorded them having sex, he had no reasonable response. His apartment was filled with cameras, but there was no explanation for sharing the tape with others. Asked about her concussion, it became her fault for struggling with him.

She listened to him stutter and stammer through every excuse, and watched him wither under her disbelieving gaze. Then, she got up and smiled, telling him he should have stayed in the hole and to stay away from her. She opened the door for him and watched him slink away, slamming the door behind him.

This time, when he passed, Abby looked away, knowing he had somehow crossed Olivia. Huck stood guard, arms folded, waiting for him to leave. Quinn kept her finger on the trigger of the gun she recently acquired. Then, he was gone.

Regardless of all she's been through the past 19 months, all they'd been through since they've known each other, beyond Jake and Verna, beyond Mellie and Cyrus, the one constant is their love. And now, watching him dance with his wife, the way she so wishes he would dance with her, the love she has for him seems stronger than ever.

She watches as Fitz and Mellie separate from each other on the dance floor, and others begin to fill the empty spaces. He goes his way, waving, smiling, as charming as ever, and she goes hers, the perfect political wife. It's all a show, all for show and she is its most captive audience member. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. His posture is not quite straight. Her teeth are clenched tightly together, as though she's trying to keep herself from losing it on national television. 

Everything about this night, except for Fitz's re-election, feels wrong. She told him to run clean, run and win, but he didn't run clean. He ran under a carefully crafted image of a dedicated family man, someone who loved his wife. One half of the world's most famous, and loving couple.

She curls into a slightly tighter ball on the sofa, as she listens to the pundits. They just love the Grants. Tout them as a couple whose love is deep and powerful, so strong that even infidelity couldn't sever their bond. The first tear slips from her eye as doubt creeps into her mind. Maybe their love isn't as strong as she thought. Maybe it isn't meant to be after all.

Tonight, is an extension of the past 19 months. Cycles of absolute certainty followed by bouts of doubt. She hasn't seen or talked to him, no words of reassurance have come from his lips. So, she's left with her vivid imagination to tell her it was all a dream, and in the end, it became a nightmare.

What she has done, is communicated through Cyrus. Campaign strategy and advice, those are things she provided to the campaign, with Fitz's approval. Or so she was told. Her fingerprints were on the campaign, though they were light and soft. With unconfirmed rumors of her relationship with the President, she couldn't be seen near the campaign.

Everything feels so wrong, so out of whack. She shouldn't be sitting at home, alone, watching the festivities from afar. But where else can she, should she be? Certainly not hiding in the background of one of the many inaugural balls.

Time is supposed to heal all things, but in her case, it's not healing a damned thing. In fact, the pain is getting greater. She has nightmares about him. Relives the last day in the Oval Office almost nightly. She is haunted by the broken-hearted expression on his face. In her dreams, she reaches out to touch him, but he disappears before her fingers can make contact, pieces of him float way until he's so far beyond her reach.

She cries for him. At night. When it's too painful to sleep, she rolls onto her stomach, buries her head in her pillow and grieves for the love they had, the love she still has. She cries for what could have been, what should be.

She has no one to blame but herself. If she had let him, he would've fought for them. He would've laid it all on the line for them, but she believes it is his destiny to be a great, two term president. Not someone who resigned in disgrace or lost his re-election bid because of his affair; because of his mistress.

Friends, what few there are, have expressed their concern. Even Stephen has re-surfaced because, apparently, he has a source keeping him up-to-date on Olivia's life. She'll have to talk to Harrison about that later. They think a woman with her intelligence, beauty and style should be dating, as though a woman is defined by her dating status. Stephen though, he knows the truth. He knows of her broken heart and still he presses her. Tells her she can't spend her life waiting on a man who has, time and time again, chosen someone else.

But, he doesn't know Fitz; he doesn't know them. Time and time again, he has chosen her. It is she who has walked away. She thinks she's doing it for him, but maybe she's doing it for herself. Because she doesn't know how to love completely, not the way he does. Or, more likely, it's a combination of the two.

In another four years, maybe they can give it a try. Maybe they can they can try to put each other back together, reassemble the pieces of two shattered hearts. Will he even forgive her by then? Should he?

When did it all become so complicated? Why did it have to become so complicated. When it began, it was more than just lust. Looking back, she can see it. Them coming together, it was a slow build, it as a falling in love with the mind and spirit, long before the body.

She can admit now, she was attracted to Fitz even before she joined his first campaign. There was something about him that drew her in immediately. Resisting the urge to act on that attraction proved difficult, though not impossible. That is, until he admitted on national television that he was in love with her. Everyone thought he was referring to his wife, but she knew, she knew he was referring to her. That's when it began, and from that moment on, it was out of her control. The love grew and grew, until her heart no longer had space to contain it. Until it exploded all over her and her life, making her world nothing without him.

In those early days, she didn't want to think of the how and when they might end it. For the first time in her life she wanted to live in the moment and that's exactly what she did. And when the time came for them to end it, she really thought she would be okay. Maybe "okay" isn't the right word; she thought she could deal with it. It was clear almost immediately that dealing with it was something she was incapable of doing when it came to him.

The backsliding was frequent and smoldering and beautiful. No matter how many times she swore it was the last time, it never was. They were drawn to each other like magnets. All of this is past tense because in 19 months, they haven't seen each other and it has been hell.

She gets up from the couch, turns off the television and drops the remote on her coffee table. She's had enough. Enough reminiscing, enough remembering, enough lamenting what could have been. What should be. He really is out of her reach and that hurts. She doesn't know how to go on.

She picks up her wine glass and downs the remaining liquid. Let's it sting the back of her throat. It rushes to her head almost immediately. She takes the glass and popcorn bowl into the kitchen, and leaves them on the counter. There will be time in the morning to put them in the dishwasher. Right now, all she wants it to climb into bed and fall into a deep sleep, one from which she almost wishes she wouldn't wake.

Her bedroom is almost too big, almost too lonely. The bed should be inviting, instead, it's just a cold, empty space that makes her realize how alone she is. She takes off her sweater and watches as it slides down her body and onto the floor.

The tears already sting the corners of her eyes, and she wipes them away roughly. But, they don't stop coming. They double down, daring her to try to stop them. The dam breaks, and her body trembles as she lets go of everything she's tried to hold back this evening.

It should have been her dancing with him. It should have been her holding the bible as he was sworn in. It should have been her who shared his first kiss of the morning, and the first kiss that day in front of America. It should have been her hand he held, her stride with which he walked in sync. It all should have been her and she walked away. Thinking someday was better than today. But she's wrong. She is so wrong and now, she's lost her opportunity.

She doesn't know how her body managed to crawl into bed and bury itself under her comforter, which provides anything but comfort. She tries to drift off to sleep, but tonight, like so many others it's illusive. So, she turns onto her back and stares at the ceiling, not bothering to wipe the tears that stream down her face, landing on her sheets.

She doesn't hear the front door as it opens, but she hears the footsteps. Heavy, with a familiar rhythm. It stops at her bedroom doorway. She feels his eyes, but closes hers because this has happened before; she's thought she heard him, gets her hopes up, only to come crashing back down to earth when she realizes it's only in her imagination.

It starts up again, the mattress shifts slightly as another body joins her. A hand wipes away her tears. Lips find their way to her forehead, each cheek, finally resting on her lips. She wants to tell him he shouldn't be here. He doesn't belong to her; he belongs to his wife and the American people. But, she can't.

He takes off his shoes, then his jacket, his shirt, his pants. He crawls into bed next to her and pulls her as close to him as he can. If he could fuse their bodies together, he would. He whispers in her ear, "I love you, Olivia." She closes her eyes as he squeezes her just a little tighter. "It's you, Livvy. It's always been you. I know you couldn't be there with me today, but you were in my heart, you are in my heart, every step of the way."

He kisses her again, wiping the tears he can't see, but feels sliding down her face. He knows because his tears, they're sliding down his face too. "I can't promise you tonight or tomorrow, or even next week. But, someday. I promise you. We're going to get it right. Because what we've got, it's worth it."

"I love you," she says, as she drifts off to sleep in his arms. And this time, when she sleeps, it's not filled with nightmares or regret, it's filled with one word, "someday".


	2. Someday -- Fitz's POV

This was meant to be a simple one shot, but when I read the comment by BeckyPo, I decided to write another chapter, this time from Fitz's pov. This will be the final chapter. Thank you for reading.

**Someday – Fitz's Point of View**

He doesn't want to come out of his dream. Doesn't want to face the day. Another day without her. Another day of longing and yearning and not being able to talk to, to touch, to hold. Just visions of what could have been; visions of what should be.

But, he cannot hide forever because there are people who need him, things to do, ceremonies to attend, galas to pretend to enjoy. This is the day of his second inauguration; the second term of his prison sentence. Another four years he'll have to continue with this painful charade of the happy family man who happens to be the leader of the free world.

He dreams of her more often than not. The way her hair lands just below her shoulders. The way her eyes take in everything around her, missing nothing. The way her lip quivers when she's fighting tears. Her touch on his skin. Her laughter at his jokes. The quiet moments they shared.

It's been 19 months. So much time has passed but his feelings for her haven't diminished. If anything, they've grown stronger. He turns onto his back and stares at the ceiling, thankful Mellie no longer shares his bed. It allows him a few extra moments to savor his dream of her. A few moments to gather himself before facing the day that, if he's honest, he never wanted to come.

He looks out at the crowd of thousands of faces, dozens of races, religious backgrounds, ages across the spectrum and there's only one face he wants to see. Hers. His heart sinks a little; his eyes cannot find her, his soul does not feel her presence.

He feels Mellie tugging at his sleeve and he turns to her. There she is with that fake smile plastered on her face, telling him with her eyes to pull it together; to get over her. He smiles tightly, resisting the urge to strangle her. She gives him a barely perceptible nod, holding the bible upon which he lays his left hand while raising his right.

He goes through the motions. Repeats the oath office. He turns to his left and discreetly looks over his shoulder, staring at the space Olivia occupied four years ago. She smiled at him four years ago, so proudly, warmth washed over his entire body. He was truly loved and to be loved by her was unlike anything else. She looked at him like he was her everything; she certainly was his.

This time, she's not there. There is no love or warmth washing over him. Just the bitterness that seems to become more pronounced with age. And there's Mellie, sucking the warm blood from his body, replacing it with something close to, but not quite, hatred.

He mentally kicks himself as he looks at Mellie one more time. Must put on a good show for the American public because that's what they all want. Cyrus, Mellie, the American people and to a lesser extent, Olivia. No, Olivia isn't like that. She wants him to be as great a President as he is a man ,and if that means remaining trapped in a loveless marriage, she would make that sacrifice. She has made that sacrifice time and time again.

Everything else is a blur. He shouldn't be here without her. He shouldn't feel this emptiness that haunts him day and night. Nothing about this day feels right. Knowing that he ran a clean campaign means nothing; it doesn't say he's good enough. It says, no, it reinforces his belief that his is a coward. A brave man would've left his wife and married the woman of his dreams, political career be damned. At least he would've been honest. And happy.

When he and Olivia are together, they are a force. He never knew what that word meant until she came into his life and he realized that she could and literally did make everything better. She could kiss his pain away, tough love him into making the right decision. Together, they are unstoppable and he loves it. When she left him, 19 months ago, the best part of him left right along with her.

He knew something was wrong from the way she entered his office. She usually walked in without an escort, but this time, she let his assistant lead her inside. She was wearing dark colors, always a bad sign. And she had that look in her eyes, and the inability to look at him in his, which always means she's going to run.

Her Gladiators needed her, that's what she said. He wanted to say he did too. Wanted to say he was desperate for her, couldn't breathe without her, was dead without her. Instead, he stood there, open-mouthed and mute. The funny thing is, his greatest fear was that he'd lose her after she found out he murdered a Supreme Court justice, but she accepted it. He did see, however, the shame in her eyes when he told her he knew she had slept with Jake. Was that why she ran?

Jake. It still hurts to think about them together. Some nights, he dreams of the things he saw on the sex tape. He isn't angry with her. He was never angry with her. No, his anger is directed at Jake who overstepped his bounds, knowing she and Fitz were together. Yet, he did it anyway and continued to play both sides of the aisle. He never should have trusted Jake. But, in the end, it was he who had the last laugh.

After he learned of Jake's betrayal, he had Cyrus do a little digging. He learned that Jake was being "detained" in a hole. For months he received updates and took pleasure in hearing of his former friend's suffering. When Jake was released, Fitz knew he went to see Olivia. Though he wasn't having her followed anymore, he kept tabs on Jake. It wasn't long before Jake, who was relieved of his duty at the Pentagon, found himself persona non grata in DC and was forced to leave, his life and spirit destroyed.

Fitz snaps back to reality and follows behind Mellie as she exits the stage. He turns around a final time, searching for a camera, and he looks directly at it. He freezes, so she'll have an opportunity to look into his eyes and hear all the things he cannot say. And he smiles, so sadly, before turning around, straightening his posture and disappearing from the camera's lens.

The past 19 months without her have been his personal hell. He's misses her so much. He's thrown himself into work and campaigning to avoid thinking about her, an impossible task. In fact, he finds himself constantly asking what she would do. If he focuses really hard, he can sometimes hear her voice, urging him to do what is right, to be great. And he truly wants to be the man she believes he can be; the man she thinks he is.

When her name was leaked the the media as his mistress, it didn't faze her as much as it did him. It shook him to his core. He tried to reach out to her, but she wouldn't take his calls, wouldn't respond to his messages. She handled it as always, with grace. A non-denial denial, until the media was bored and moved on to the next story.

The story of his infidelity, however, never completely went away, just Olivia's name as being "the other woman". He didn't mind it though. It came up repeatedly on the campaign trail, but he was able to dodge answering it, thanks to careful guidance from Olivia.

Olivia. He can attribute this win to her too, although it came in a very different way. A legitimate was legitimate, supported by the polls which, in the months leading up to the election, began to swing his way. It was her deft handling of the campaign in an uncredited role, but he knows the truth. The plan, it was classic Olivia. She has always believed in him more than he has ever believed in himself. She made him campaign tirelessly because, she said, when people got a look at him, up close, and listened to him; when he tried to make a personal connection with people, rather than make broad comments people could apply to their own life, he earned votes. She believed that he could earn his way back to the top one voter at a time.

She was right. On election night, as the electoral votes came in, one by one, he took the states she projected he'd take. And when he was proclaimed the winner by all the major networks, it was she whom he wanted to run to. Her lips he wanted to feel. Her body he wanted to worship. As happy as that night should have been for him, indeed it was on some level, his smile never fully reached his eyes; his joy never reached his soul. Her absence cut him to his heart and ever day since she left he has felt a gigantic hole in his life.

It's been 19 months, more than enough time to grieve according to Cyrus. Cyrus said he needs to pull himself together for the good of the nation. But he doesn't realize what's good for the nation is having Olivia in his life and working with her as part of a team. Cyrus has never given their love enough credit and for awhile, Fitz thought it was because of jealousy. He's recently come to the conclusion that the type of love he shares with her, few people can comprehend. They think it's a phase, or something from Romeo and Juliet, something that's intense and lovely for a time, but juvenile. In fact, it is that kind of intense love that's worth fighting for, that's worth sacrificing everything because it is everything. It is air. It is breath. It is his heartbeat. The blood coursing through his veins. It is his life and he knows she feels the same. What Cyrus doesn't understand is that what they have, or had, is written in the stars and will be no matter what.

He looks in the mirror as he tries to tie his bow tie. She did this for him last time. When she worked at the White House, he purposely went to her office with his tie askew, knowing she would tie it the right way. Make sure it was perfectly straight. He just wanted to feel her hands on him, the way she would straighten his tie, or help him with his cufflinks, then run her hands down his chest. It never ceased to take his breath away. This time, he has to do it himself. He hears Mellie's voice in the distance. Something about hurrying up. Something about getting the damned tie right. She offers to help and even comes over to him and tries to touch him, but he jerks away. It feels oh so wrong.

He has to put himself together again, if only for tonight. He has to get her out of his mind, for a few hours at least, but he can't. All he can see is her face. She is everywhere on this night, on every night. When Mellie leaves, he looks over at his phone and wonders if he should call her. Just to hear her voice. He doesn't. Instead, he roughly finishes his tie not caring if it's straight, snatches his jacked off his bed and leaves the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

He takes a different route to the waiting car, different route from Mellie. He tells her he left something in his office and he'll meet her in the car. He walks down the long hall in the West Wing, toward Olivia's old office. There are no traces of her left, but he can imagine; he can remember.

Today, tonight, he can't even make himself focus on anything other than her. He walks down the hall where she's taken a million steps toward him, away from him. He takes deep breaths, trying to inhale her scent which is long gone but not from his memory. He takes deep breaths to keep from crying because if he starts, he will never stop.

Cyrus interrupts his thoughts with that same frantic demeanor he always has. Fitz swears Cyrus shakes him and demands he "get it together". He nods, Fitz does, and he continues his journey toward the waiting limousine.

Inside, he buckles himself in, not bothering to look at his wife. He leans his head against the window, hoping the coolness will take away his forming migraine. The miles pass, as do the minutes, and before he can fully gather himself, they are in front of the first inaugural ball.

People are screaming, cameras are clicking and the switch is flipped on him. He's in "public" mode, the smile appears just as he steps out of the car and starts waving at the crowd. He turns and smiles at Mellie, extending his hand to help her. Her switch has flipped too and her smile matches his, but their distance is seen by none but felt by each other. They have a limp-fish grip on each other's hand, the space between their bodies is wide as they pull in opposite directions. She leans into him, and through clenched teeth urges him to at least act like he can stand her. He ignores her.

The night seems to go on forever. The obligatory dances. The fake looks of love they share, with hatred bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to overflow.

At each party, Fitz's eyes scan the room for any sign of Olivia. It's futile, he knows, because if she were there, he'd feel her long before he saw her. Yet, he continues, longing for a glimpse of her. After all, she deserves to be here for her work on the campaign. Not to mention, in his heart, she is his first lady.

The truth is, 19 months ago before she came into his office to break things off and he understood why, he really did, he imagined sharing this moment with her. He dared to dream of holding her in his arms, and her telling him to keep his "eyes up". When it comes to her, he can't help taking in her beauty. He'd stare at her forever if she'd let him. He'd listen to her all day and night, just to hear the brilliance coming from her lips. He would do anything for her, but now, as he dances with his wife, there is nothing he can do but go with it.

He closes his eyes, imagining Olivia in his arms. Imagining Olivia dancing in step with him and adding a little extra sway in her hips for him. No matter how hard he tries, it's Mellie he feels in his arms and that is wrong. And that's when he knows, he has to get to her.

He tells Mellie he has an early day at the office, so they should go and she doesn't protest. She hates being around him almost as much as he hates being around her. So, early in the night, and earlier than most expect, the first couple calls it a night. And when they arrive back at the White House, she goes to her bedroom and he goes back to the waiting limousine, instructing Tom to take him to Olivia's.

She gave him a key long ago and told him to use it any time. He never did, not until tonight. He should knock, but there's a part of him that fears she will look through the peephole, see it's him and not answer. So, he takes his key and quietly opens the door, expecting to see her sitting on the sofa, watching the news.

Olivia has always been a night owl, so the fact that she's not on the sofa and he can see no light coming from her bedroom, alarms him. He walks slowly down the hall, fearful of what he may see, fearful of how she might cut him with words to force him to walk away again. No matter what she says, he's not leaving this time. It's been too long since he's been near her and he can't go another day, he can't go another minute without her. And damn it, he won re-election, the American people have rendered their verdict and his infidelity doesn't matter to them. So why should it matter to him? She is his destiny.

He stops in her bedroom doorway and watches her. The bedroom smells like her, that sweet, subtle fragrance she wears. He takes her in, noticing how she sleeps on "his" side of the bed. He wonders if there's any significance in that. He takes his time walking over to her, but she's not asleep. She moves ever so slowly to her side of the bed.

He slowly undresses and slides underneath the comforter. He understands why she can't look at him yet. The pain is still so fresh and he knows she needs time to pull herself together. And he'll give that to her. He lies behind her and wraps his arms around her, pulling his body closer to hers.

She leans back into him and he hears a very quiet sniffle. He wipes her tears away, kisses her neck, her cheek, the corner of her eye as the tears he's been fighting back all day make their way down his face. He is home; she is his home. This is love and he's not letting her go this time.

He whispers to her, "I can't promise you tonight or tomorrow, or even next week. But, someday. I promise you. We're going to get it right. Because what we've got, it's worth it." He wants to say so much more to her, but he knows to step back and give her space. She knows he loves her; of that, he has no doubt. He closes his eyes and pulls her closer, mouthing the words "I love you" into her neck, where his lips rest.

"I love you," she says. For the first time in 19 months, he drifts into a peaceful sleep. A sleep without nightmares or regret; it's filled with one word, "someday".


End file.
